


The Choppy Enquirer

by redbeard1235



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon - Manga, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Long summary, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Might be AU by the time I finish this because the manga isn't complete, Multi, NOT your typical OC, Rating May Change, Re-write, Transfer from FF.net
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbeard1235/pseuds/redbeard1235
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Press headlines aren't always trustworthy. Even more so when the most recent ones speak of Devils hunting in the night, Death Gods with strange whirring blades, and Angels prowling Big Ben. However, to Her Majesty, and to her favorite watchdog, these headlines are no laughing matter. Whoever is writing the truth about London, needs to be found, and if necessarily, eliminated.<br/>-----<br/>Felix was always a dreamer, not someone with high aspirations, but someone who constantly had vivid visions in the night. With only an old potato sack for a pillow, a thirteen year old thief to take care of, and a past he can't remember, what hurt could it do when someone asks him to start writing his dreams down in some cheap newspaper? <br/>-----<br/>In the Hierarchy of the Dead, being a Shinigami is on par with hard labor. The ignorance of their class is believing humans are the only creatures being hunted. When Harvester, William T. Spears, falls from grace, his only redemption is to collect the one Shard he let survive. Forced to work as an underling for decades, one red name glows at the top of his list. With only ten years left until his deadline, will he finally be able to cross it off?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Choppy Enquirer

One thing. One thing kept him on his feet.

His breathing was steady, pillowing out onto the amber hillside in front of him. Rolling waves of grain, blushed by the setting sun. He shivered, the crisp breath of autumn rushing against his neck and brushing the gilded landscape, each stalk shivering like wanton lovers. Wisps of fiery crimson and ivory grazed the skies above him, shedding gold warmth into his skin. It was kindness. It was home.

It was gone.

“You’ve stopped.”

Felix shuddered and let himself sink to his knees. Shards of metal scraped his skin, thick stones charred meters from the rubble. Smoke swirled up and tainted his tears. He absently wondered when he had begun to cry. The flames burned in the reflection of his eyes, making their golden hues shine. Rough hands grazed his neckline, and he sighed.

“I’m tired, now.” The hands disappeared, in many ways Felix missed them.

It was all right, he thought, to have it end like this. Where he began, where he was happy. Even if the printing press was in ashes, even if the blood-rusty walls were in shambles, it was still his. It was his to lose. Ironic, in a way, that they were both falling at their foundations. Falling with fire. “I see. Then it is about time we ended this, is it not?” He heard the screech of metal unsheathed from its scabbard. There was nothing within him now that was against this. Felix was tired. His bones ached, and his head pounded, even his very blood felt slow and hot with exhaustion. Perhaps that was the wound in his side. Blood still seeped through the hastily made bandages. Either way, he had no chance of surviving to nightfall. He wondered if the moon would still be waiting…

“Will it hurt?” His breath began to stutter.

“I imagine so.” Felix laughed at the almost bemused tone, “My apologies.”

“I think,” He leaned back and fell against a knee, he wondered what a strange picture this must make and laughed again, choking slightly, “I’m okay with that.”

Rushing wind blew up against him and his breath caught at the power of it. It blew through his hair like fingers, cooled his hot skin, and dried his tears. For a moment, Felix thought he heard voices carried on it, comforting and familiar, like a mother’s breath. His first sob escaped him, and the hands returned to his neck, along with the cold metal of a blade.

“I…I’m...”

“Shhhh…”

Felix relaxed, realizing the time for speaking had long passed them both. He felt the blade raise off his skin, but tried to ignore the fear building inside him at the preparation. He just looked out at the rolling amber hillside, remembered running along their paths and kicking up dust, nights spent gazing up at the heavens from the ground below, warm smiles and friendly laughter.

The blade sliced through the air.

Felix closed his eyes.

* * *

 

_[Before The End]_

“Felix? _Felix_!"

Fog rolled in and sank chill into the moorlands, slivers of dawn caught against the land, scrolling along grasses and roads, small country estates, and broken barnyards. Among them was an old factory, rusted red from disrepair. Its roof was a hodgepodge of straw and wooden beams. Stone crumbled at its base, remnants of an ancient silo. Outside it, astonishingly, was a small boy. No older than twelve or thirteen, banging his fist against the doors incessantly.

“Felix!”

Normal people, even children, would understand that sunrise was not the most opportune moment to start knocking on doors. Especially doors of people who were not likely to be awake until noon, let alone five in the morning. Kurt Bellingham, it would seem, was not one of these normal children. In fact, Felix was led to believe, any other upstanding adult would have felt every right to discipline the child and ignore them until they returned later.

Feeling his blanket torn off of him reminded Felix, once again, that Kurt was not a normal child in any sense.

“Felix! You made me pick the lock again. Come on, I’m bored. Wake up.”

He groaned, shoving his face into the potato sack that served as his pillow. In his own defense, it was a rather nice potato sack, with a high thread count compared to your everyday run-of-the-mill sack. Even if it was a little moldy and smelled like sour milk. It was comfortable enough to sleep on, and that’s what he planned to continue doing with it.

“Go away. I hardly sleep enough as it is.” His voice was rough with the morning, “Let me have my beauty rest.”

“Beauty rest? That would take decades!”

Felix growled, letting the brat drag him up from the thin mattress. He ruffled Kurt’s hair, blinking away sleep, and made his way over to the industrial sink, “Respect your elders!”

“You’re not a day over twenty-five!”

He dragged a palm down his face, looking over his appearance in the cracked mirror before him. Of course he’d never say it, but Kurt did have a point. Felix’s hair was a rugged mess, more so than usual. His hair was always a deep and rusted red, just like his small printing house. Right now, it looked like a bloody monster had taken stoop on his skull. Despite that though, he was a fairly handsome fellow. He knew his strong jaw and golden eyes were part of his charm, even if his skin was as pale as the paper he worked on.

“That’s still twelve years on you, brat.” Felix shook his head and ran a hand through his hair a few times. It fell right eventually, “Now what the hell did you want?”

Kurt shrugged, leaning against the wall. He fiddled with the strings on his vest, a gift from Felix when he still worked under a family, the Dexters, or the Didies, or something. That was nearly a year ago, and Felix disappeared for a while. He came back different, brighter, and invigorated. Then he bought the printing house, for whatever the dump was worth.

“You told me I could help, be the delivery boy, remember?”

“Did I say that?” Felix looked over his shoulder, pulling on his thin white blouse and buttoning his trousers. Long scars raked down his back and sides, an accident when he had first tried the printing press, “I don’t know…”

Kurt saw the man’s smile, heard the bemused tone in his voice, and smiled back, “You did. Yesterday.”

Felix made a noncommittal sound and pulled on his own vest, making his way out into the main part of the factory. Dust stirred up with each footstep, making Kurt’s nose tickle before it cleared up through the morning dew. Morning lit everything in the building ablaze; every speck of rust glowed red. Including the head of hair on the man before him. Felix’s crop of primrose red made him look like he was birthed from the walls. The only thing that looked out of place was the huge piece of machinery in the center. Kurt never saw a printing press before Felix brought one in. He didn’t know where his friend got the money to buy one, especially since this one looked new. It was a behemoth of iron, levers, and gears. Just looking at it, Kurt knew it must’ve cost a fortune. Whoever Felix had paying him to print, he wondered if they knew the man slept on potatoes.

“Well, if you want to help me, we’d better get started.” Felix rolled up his sleeves and nodding his head towards the large green sack in the corner, “It took me way too long to get the paper together, then run the press. I’ll have to mention that to them in my next letter. Maybe they could spare someone to help me out.”

“ _I_ can help you!” Kurt huffed, running over and trying to haul the sack by himself, only managing to lift it off the ground for a few seconds before falling to the floor. Felix laughed and helped him up, brushing dust from his chestnut hair before it could fall into his eyes. ‘Emerald balls of fire,’ as his mother used to say.

“And you _will_ , Kurt, but not with the mechanical work. That’s too dangerous. You’ve seen my scars.” To emphasize, he pulled away the collar of his shirt, revealing the ugly mess of scratch work, some of them still healing.

“You could teach me.” Kurt pouted, pulling out his bright green bandana and tying it around his head, “I’m a quick learner. You’ve already taught me plenty of other things.”

“This isn’t like fencing or making tea, Kurt. Come on now, maybe after we get this first printing out we can get a treat.”

This perked Kurt up quite a bit, “You mean it?”

“Sure. Why not?” Felix pulled over a cart, huffing with the effort of picking up the bag. Kurt helped him lift the back end. With a loud thump, it landed safely, “As long as your sister is okay with it. How is Marie anyway?”

"Oh...um.."

Marian Bellingham in many ways was the complete opposite of her younger brother. Where he was always energetic and full of hope, Marie never lost her composure. Her bright blonde hair kept tight to her skull, a near spitting image of her father, sans her mother’s iridescent blue eyes. A smile was rare, a laugh even more so. Jack, Kurt’s father, was always away on business, and after his mother passed, Marie took over their summer home in London. It was only supposed to be a few weeks until his father came home.

Then weeks turned into months, months into years, and eventually Kurt just accepted that his father was gone for good. It hardly mattered; Felix was there to take care of him. Marie was there to take care of everything else. Kurt didn’t have any worry, and it looked like Marie and Felix were leaning towards marriage. He’d never been happier.

But not his sister.

What little of their father’s fortune was still accessible to them, she began to waste away on frivolous items. Their father never taught them how to budget funds, make deals with companies, or even how to contact those who worked for him. Felix did what he could, contacted servants of families he used to work for and sent them word. It was no use. What little love Marie had for Felix, and vice versa, was lost as they argued over what was best for Kurt. They didn’t make a year into their engagement. Felix hadn’t been inside the house since, only stopping by to pick up Kurt once in a while.

It was this new distance between Felix and his sister that let Kurt keep her new fiancée a secret from him. He didn’t want to hurt Felix by letting him know she'd already moved on. This became easier to do when Marie just…stopped coming home. All that she left behind was a letter saying she was on vacation in the Americas with whoever the bastard was she decided was better than Felix. Almost simultaneously, that is also when he started receiving letters from his father. Something about a school for agriculture, Harvesters. It was always the same letter. Once a month on the dot, with a small sum of money telling him to catch the next train. However, Kurt was stubborn. If his father wanted him to do something, he would have to come himself. Of course, he never did, and Kurt started ripping them up after a mere glance at the postage.

 “Kurt, are you awake?” Felix chuckled, bringing Kurt back to Earth, “How is your sister?”

“I’m awake! She’s fine, wouldn’t mind me going with you at all. You know how she is lately.” Kurt blurted, looking inside the bag to avoid Felix’s intelligent gaze.

“Oh, alright then.” The boy started filing threw one of the papers, Felix snatched it back, “You can look at the leftover copies, or the original when we get back. Right now we need to sell as many of these as possible.”

“Did I see something about vampires? Why are they printing that?”

“They are all bits and pieces of silly little stories. You remember the ones I told you when you were younger? That is what they are printing. Those and other scary tales.” Felix scoffed, “I don’t know why they think it will sell, but they asked for more with my next letter.”

“So you’re going to be famous?” Kurt jumped, shaking the man’s arm, “You’re name will be in the papers?”

Felix laughed and opened up the door, grabbing his horse by the reigns over to the cart, “Of course not. I doubt they will be popular at all, but money is money. Even if they do sell, I have it under a pseudonym, C.S.”

“Why C.S.?” Kurt helped hitch the cart to the horse saddle, jumping back when the mare bucked upwards. Felix hushed her whinnying then gave Kurt a hand up onto the saddle, “Why not use your real name?”

“You know I was adopted, I'm using my birthname's initials. If the papers don’t sell, or there’s a scandal, someone would have to go through quite a bit of trouble to find me based on 'C.S.' Near impossible. If they do sell, then nobody will be bothering me for 'inspiration' or autographs. It’s better this way.” Felix nodded, settling out onto the saddle. He wondered if he could convince his neighbor to let him have the horse for a bit longer.

“Oh.” Kurt nodded and held onto Felix’s belt loops to stay steady, “So what’s it called then, the paper?”

“ _The Choppy Enquirer_.”

“What a stupid name.”


End file.
